


You'll Be Okay

by Nearly



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Birdflash - Freeform, Gen, Hurt Wally West, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Not super Graphic, Sad, Self-Harm, Sort of? - Freeform, Wally Whump, but be careful, dickwally, wally west deserves better, why do i do this to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 20:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16541294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearly/pseuds/Nearly
Summary: “Wally?” Shit. Wally rarely calls this late, not since last year, not unless he really needs someone. Dick is already moving to get dressed when Wally speaks again.“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, you can go back to sleep, I'm so sorry, I just did something stupid and I didn't know what to do and I know you always said I could call you if I needed something but I can probably deal with it myself--” Wally is rambling, sounding like he’s about to cry again. Dick tugs a shirt on.“Wally,” He says, trying to sound soothing rather than panicked. “What happened? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”“I'm-- I'm at home. My apartment,” Wally answers. His breathing picks up again, faster, more ragged. “I'm sorry, I can't-- I don’t-- Dick, please.”





	You'll Be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This does deal with the topic of self-harm, so if that's an issue for you, please be careful! That said, I'm pretty proud of this given that I wrote it at 2am. Have fun with it.

Dick Grayson wonders, very briefly, why he’s awake at 3am. It's dark, he’s tired, and it’s way, way too early in the morning for this. He lies there, blinking up at his ceiling, debating if it’s worth rolling over and going back to sleep or if he should maybe just answer the incessantly vibrating phone on the side table. After a few seconds of deliberation, the phone shuts off, and Dick breathes a low sigh of guilty relief. If it was anyone important, they'd call back. He starts to shift, and just as he closes his eyes, the phone rings again.

“Oh, _fine,_ ” Dick groans, moving to sit up and grab the device. He doesn't bother to check the caller name, still too groggy and out of it from being woken so abruptly. He swipes the screen to answer the call and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. What sounds like uneven breathing echoes down the line, and then--

“Dick,” the caller says, voice rough like he's been crying.

“Wally?” Shit. Wally rarely calls this late, not since last year, not unless he really needs someone. Dick is already moving to get dressed when Wally speaks again.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, you can go back to sleep, I'm so sorry, I just did something stupid and I didn't know what to do and I know you always said I could call you if I needed something but I can probably deal with it myself--” Wally is rambling, sounding like he’s about to cry again. Dick tugs a shirt on.

“Wally,” He says, trying to sound soothing rather than panicked. “What happened? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”

“I'm-- I'm at home. My apartment,” Wally answers. His breathing picks up again, faster, more ragged. “I'm sorry, I can't-- I don’t-- Dick, _please._ ”

“I'm coming, Wally. I'm coming, don't worry,” Dick is already out the door and halfway down the block to the zeta tubes as he talks. The streets are empty at this hour, and he’s thankful, because it lets him get to the tubes without worrying about being spotted.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to…” Wally is repeating, over and over again. Dick reaches the old phone booth and his hands are shaking as he punches in the zeta codes. Wally still hasn't told him what he's done, or how bad it is, and Dick has no idea what to expect. The thought terrifies him.

“I'm at the zeta tube, I'm almost there,” Dick tells him, hoping to sound reassuring. The beam is powering up and he knows he'll have to end the call before he steps in, knows he'll have to leave Wally alone just for a moment. “I have to shut off the call, but I'll call you right back on the other side. It'll only be a second.” Wally whimpers, and it breaks Dick’s heart into a million pieces right there on the pavement.

“It'll barely be any time at all,” Dick whispers, chest tight. “I'll be right there, Wall-man, I promise. And then everything will be okay.”

“Okay, okay,” Wally says, and Dick can picture his face all scrunched up like he does when he doesn't want anyone to see him cry. “Please, please, be quick. I need you.”

“Quick as I can, Walls,” Dick says. Wally makes a noise of confirmation, maybe, and Dick ends the call. He all but sprints into the zeta tube, barely registering the robotic voice reading out his name before he's on the other side and he's running again. The tube powers down behind him as he races towards Wally’s apartment building, barreling up the stairs with his phone in his hand. Wally picks up again immediately, like he hadn't even fully put the phone down when Dick called back.

“I'm here,” Dick says, before Wally can even speak. “I'm coming up the stairs, and I need you to open the door for me, can you do that?” He hears another loud sniffle, and the telltale shuffle of his best friend getting up to move across the apartment.

“Yeah,” Wally says, voice slightly muffled. “Yeah, I can do that.” Dick reaches the landing just as Wally clicks the lock and swings the door open. He takes him in; red hair messy and sticking up everywhere, face paler than usual, dried tear tracks mixed with fresh down his cheeks. Dick doesn't want to look at his arms, because he thinks he knows what he'll find and he doesn't want to be right, not after a year of getting better--but he can't stop the inevitable. Wally has them half hidden behind him, but Dick can still see. The minor cuts that are visible are already closing--due to speedster healing, no doubt--but a few larger ones are still bleeding sluggishly, staining the hastily-tied bandages that Wally had put on.

“Oh, Wally,” Dick breathes. Wally's face crumples, and then Dick is pulling him into a gentle hug in the doorway. He walks them backwards and shuts the door with his foot as Wally starts to cry into his shirt, hands tightening in the cheap t-shirt fabric.

“I'm sorry, Dick, I'm sorry,” He sobs, clinging to him. Dick rubs his back and sits them down on the couch. He thinks vaguely that Wally might be getting blood on him, but he decides he doesn't care.

“It’s okay, Walls,” Dick murmurs, rocking them back and forth gently. “It’s okay. You've got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I woke you up,” Wally sniffles.

“Wasn't sleeping anyway,” Dick lies. Wally just cries harder, and for a while they're quiet as he lets it out. It's just the two of them in Wally's crappy apartment on his moth-bitten couch, with Wally gripping Dick’s shirt so hard he thinks he might rip it and Dick whispering quietly in his ear to calm him down. It takes what feels like hours before Wally calms enough to stop crying, stop hiding his face in Dick's shoulder. Back in Gotham, the sun would be just barely rising; here in Wally's city, it's still another hour at least before dawn.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asks, resting his forehead against Wally's. Wally's breath catches, and he lets it all out in a huff.

“No,” he admits. “But I think I need to.” His hands are trembling as he curls them into fists, lays them flat again. “I got home from work, night shift, and I-- I just-- well, I got fired. I guess I kept skipping out on shifts because of superhero duties and I couldn't very well tell my manager that which means she thinks I've just been ditching and that makes me a bad employee obviously so she fired me but without that job I've got no income and no income means--” Wally squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths. Dick takes one of his outstretched hands and waits.

“Means what, Wally?” He prompts. He knows full well what it means and he hates it, but he needs Wally to say it himself. It always was better for Wally to talk himself through things.

“I won't be able to pay rent,” Wally says, voice breaking. “I could barely pay before, but now I can't, at all. I'll be evicted, or something. I guess I couldn't handle that, not tonight.”

“We'll figure something out,” Dick assures him. “We always do. Okay?”

“Okay,” Wally breathes, quietly. “It’s just, it's been more than a year since the last time I did this, Dick. I thought I was getting better. I thought I was okay.”

“Hey, we all have slip-ups,” Dick grins at Wally, rubbing a thumb over his palm comfortingly. “What's important is that you called someone. You called me. And that meant I was here to help, to calm you down. You _are_ doing better; a year ago you wouldn't have even called if I hadn't found you already. This is progress.”

“Yeah,” Wally smiles halfheartedly. “I guess it is, a little bit.”

“Come on,” Dick stands and pulls Wally up with him. “Let's get these properly cleaned, and then you can drop your exhausted ass into bed and get some sleep, okay?” Wally nods and follows him to the first aid kit. They get him bandaged up and into bed, and the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon as Dick tugs the blankets up over him.

“Thank you, Dick,” Wally mutters quietly into his pillow, already half asleep. “For finding me.”

“No problem, Wall-man,” Dick tells him, but he's already out, breathing steady. Dick doesn’t want to leave him just yet, so he decides to take a look into the bathroom to remedy whatever mess Wally had left behind before it stains. He grabs some cleaning supplies from under the sink, closes the door behind him. And if he takes a moment to quietly cry for the first time in almost a year, well--maybe no one needs to know that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, give me a follow on tumblr at nearly-writes for more quality content ;)


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